


a little rain never hurt no one

by tijuanabiblestudies



Series: don't try this at home, kids! [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Play, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Crying, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Desperation, Desperation Play, Humiliation, Incest, M/M, Men Crying, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sibling Incest, Verbal Humiliation, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 10:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18207068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tijuanabiblestudies/pseuds/tijuanabiblestudies
Summary: “What I’m saying is, I’d like to try and…rewrite some of those unhappy memories. Here. Now.” Klaus looks Diego in the face, his eyes dark and—fuck it, there’s no other word for it,smoldering. His voice goes low and husky. “Would you be interested? Diego? Big Brother?Daddy?”





	a little rain never hurt no one

**Author's Note:**

> **Please heed the tags.** Quoth the Kink Tomato: "Your Kink Is Not My Kink (And That's Okay)," and I have no doubt that many people in the world do not share my kinks. If that includes you, go and find something else to read, with my blessing. However, if you _do_ share my kinks--or at least the ones named above--go ahead and pretend I wrote this specifically for you, because I did. I hope you like it.
> 
> This fic (and those in the series to follow) takes place in one of those they-stopped-the-apocalypse-and-everything's-okay AU's the fandom seems fond of (and with good reason). It also reflects my almost total lack of knowledge of TUA comics canon, aside from one detail, which you may know when you see it. 
> 
> Massive thanks to [speccygeekgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl) and to my friend Layli for their top-notch beta work.
> 
> Title is courtesy of Tom Waits, with my non-apologies.
> 
> Additional (spoilery) content warnings can be found at the end.

“Diego? Is that you?”

 _No, it isn’t_ , Diego thinks. He’s in the hallway outside Klaus’s room, and he refuses to take the bait. He’s got stuff to _do_ tonight.

“I _know_ that’s you. Your boots have a distinctive clompy timbre.”

His feet don’t seem to be moving anymore, though.

“Di-eeeee-goooooo,” Klaus singsongs. “Come plaaaaaay with meeeeeee.”

Goddamnit.

Diego enters. “What?”

“Be a dear and shut the door, won’t you? Danke.”

“No,” Diego says, and shuts the door. Klaus is sitting up in bed, shirtless, with a blanket spread across his lap and a hand moving slowly underneath. “Are you jerking off?”

“Not as such. Was thinking about it, a little. Pre-gaming, if you will. My plans can very easily be changed.”

Diego sits down on the edge of the bed. “Got anything in particular in mind?”

Klaus shrugs languidly. “Snuggly makeouts in my childhood bed, perhaps? That’s got a nice feel to it, don’t you think? Warm and fuzzy and nostalgic, with a just a soupçon of fucked up. You know, for flavor.”

“Flavor,” Diego echoes, half-unconsciously, and leans down to kiss him.

He’s not sure when he ended up lying down and getting under the blanket, but it’s just as well; that other pose was just asking for a crick in the neck. This is much nicer—warm and snuggly, like Klaus said. Klaus’s mouth is warm and soft, and his body is just so damn responsive, arching when Diego slides a hand down his back and shivering deliciously when Diego grabs a handful of ass. There’s not much more than a handful _there_ , but it’s nice anyway. Klaus has a leg sort of situated between Diego’s and Diego is _just_ starting to think about maybe grinding on it a little when Klaus, true to form, fucking _speaks_.

“Hey. Diego.” Their lips are millimeters apart. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Will it actually stop you if I say no?”

Klaus pouts; Diego feels more than sees it. “Well, it’s a deeply personal story. I’m only going to tell you if you promise not to breathe a word of it to another soul. Living _or_ dead.”

Diego flinches at the word _dead_. “Ben’s not like, _here_ , is he?”

Klaus grimaces. “Oh _god_ no. I’m not—okay, I’m not _not_ an exhibitionist, but I do have _some_ limits.”

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

Klaus laughs through his nose. “Do you want to hear the story or not? Remember, you have to promise—”

“I promise,” Diego says. “Tell me.”

“As you wish.” Klaus clears his throat dramatically. “Goodness, I’m parched. Hand me that water bottle on the nightstand, will you?”

“Get it yourself,” Diego says, and grabs the water bottle. He opens it up and sniffs it (Klaus is doing a really good job of staying clean these days, and Diego is secretly proud of him, but not enough to drop his guard) before handing it over. “Sit up before you drink any, or you’ll just pour it all over your face.”

Klaus rolls his entire head along with his eyes. “Fiiiiine.” He sits up against the headboard and drinks deeply, clutching the bottle with both hands. His Adam’s apple bobs. A rivulet of water escapes the corner of his mouth and trickles all the way down his neck. Diego licks his lips a little, watching.

“ _Guhhhh_ ,” Klaus says, finally breaking away from the bottle. He screws the top back on and wipes his mouth on his arm. “Where was I?”

“You hadn’t started yet.”

“Oh. Right.” Klaus shuffles his ass around like he’s getting settled. “Okay, so. You remember when we were kids, and Da— _Reginald_ used to lock me in that mausoleum, and blah blah irreparable damage PTSD lifetime of substance abuse blah?”

“You told me about the mausoleum, yeah.”

“Well, after that happened—when he _finally_ let me come home again—I started having nightmares. As any impressionable young slip of a thing would. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah. Go on.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Klaus takes another swig from the water bottle before continuing. “When I woke up from those nightmares—shaking, sweating, crying, the whole bit—Mom was always there. I didn’t even have to call out for her. She was always standing there in the doorway at just the right time. Like clockwork, if you’ll pardon the turn of phrase.”

“Heh.”

“Anyway, she was always there. And she’d come over and sit on the edge of the bed—rather like how you did, when you came in—and she’d pet my hair and say generically soothing maternal platitudes until I calmed down and went back to sleep.”

“Is…is that the whole story?”

“ _No_ , idiot. Be patient, I’m weaving a yarn here.” Klaus twiddles his fingers in front of him as if to illustrate his point.

“ _Okay_ , jeez.”

“So. That happened for several nights. And then. And _then_.”

Diego senses a point coming. “And then?”

Klaus bites his lip and squirms a little, turns around to put his mouth really close to Diego’s ear, and whispers, “I wet the bed.”

Diego shivers. Something warm and weird and not entirely unpleasant blooms in the pit of his stomach. “ _Fuck_.”

Klaus giggles, high and reedy. “I know, right?”

Diego almost feels like he should…he doesn’t know, put some distance between them, or at least be grossed out, or _something_. “Is this the point you’ve been ramping up to? This is like, a _thing_ for you, isn’t it? Hence all the water?”

“I was drinking water because I was _thirsty_ , you troglodyte.” He takes another drink. “But yes.”

“Called it,” Diego says. He feels a little lightheaded.

“I’m still not done with the story, though.”

“Fine. Continue.”

“So…with that first bedwetting, Mom was very sweet and sympathetic. She ran me a bath and changed the sheets and said we could just keep this our little secret. But then it happened again—same story—and after the third time, it was clear that this was becoming a capital-P Problem.”

“Heh. Capital Pee.”

“Mom wanted to put me back in diapers. You remember those ever-so-retro cloth ones we had when we were babies? She wanted to make me new ones. Custom fit and all that. And of _course_ I felt the need to argue, because I was thirteen, not a baby, et cetera. _That_ was a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because Reginald overheard.”

Diego hisses. “Yikes.”

“And of _fucking course_ he demanded that I be trained out of it, because, you know, that was his whole _thing_. So instead of a soft, comfy diaper, I got the rubber pants. _Just_ the rubber pants.”

“Jesus.”

“And what those did was just trap all the urine _riiiiiiight_ up against my skin, the idea being that it was so godawfully uncomfortable that I’d be moved to stop pissing myself in my sleep. And either it worked, or I just sort of naturally outgrew it. And the only times I’ve wet the bed since then were when I was drunk out of my gourd and therefore incapable of feeling any kind of way about it. But I always _remembered_ , sometimes consciously and sometimes not, what it felt like those first few times before the rubber pants. All warm and wet and spreading out in all directions. And when I could focus through the residual fear and humiliation, I remembered it…actually feeling kind of nice.”

Diego shivers again. “So what you’re saying is….”

“What I’m saying is _let me fucking finish_ , please.”

“Sorry.”

“What I’m saying is, I’d like to try and…rewrite some of those unhappy memories. Here. Now.” Klaus looks Diego in the face, his eyes dark and—fuck it, there’s no other word for it, _smoldering_. His voice goes low and husky. “Would you be interested? Diego? Big Brother? _Daddy_?”

“…Um.” Diego’s brain feels like radio static.

“Sorry. Was that too much?”

“One outta three ain’t bad, I guess.” Diego laughs. Is this what hysteria feels like?

“The second one isn’t inaccurate, really. You’re my brother, and you’re big.” Klaus puts a hand on Diego’s chest to feel his muscles, which is made easier by the fact that Diego has lately ditched the tac gear in favor of cotton and flannel and denim. Today he’s wearing a grey T-shirt that Mom washed in some special way—he thinks he remembers her mentioning salt water—to make it extra soft. Klaus seems to like the texture of it. “Not as big as some, perhaps, but….”

“I am literally begging you not to make me think about Luther right now.”

“Sorry.” Klaus shifts position to rest his head on Diego’s chest and rub his cheek against it, like a cat. “I’m _really_ curious as to how you feel about that third epithet, though.”

“It’s. Uh. Well, it sure is something. Is it…is that why you keep calling Dad by his first name?”

“That, and I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s done less than nothing to deserve any kind of familial title. Things can be more than one thing. _You_ ought to know that, Bisexual Wonder.”

“Fair.”

“Do you like it, then? Me calling you that?”

Diego swallows thickly. “Yeah.”

Klaus rubs his hands together. “Excellent.”

“So, uh…what would I have to, um…do? As your…” _Say it, you coward._ “As your daddy?”

“In this specific situation? Whatever you like. Watch. Touch. Boss me around a little, but be nice about it. You know, the usual.”

Diego refrains from pointing out that this situation is anything but usual. “I can do that.”

“Wonderful. Oh, hey, before we get properly started….” Klaus holds up the water bottle. “Would you mind? I’ve run dry.”

“Sure.”

Diego walks down the hall to the nearest bathroom and refills the water bottle from the faucet, and also takes the much-needed opportunity to get his shit together a little.

When he comes back, Klaus is lying on his side with both arms extended and crossed like swords down the length of his chest. Both hands are buried between his legs, which are all in a twist—his pink pajama pants make them look like one of those cotton candy lollipop things. Diego just stands there for a long moment, drinking in the image.

Klaus blinks dreamily up at him. “Hello, Daddy.”

Diego says, “Are you sure you need more water?”

“Mmmmm,” Klaus says. “Maybe, maybe not. It isn’t that bad yet, not really.” He gives a languorous roll of his spine. “I’m mostly doing this ‘cause it feels good.” His voice is softer and slower than it was before Diego left the room, huskier, and a little slurred. Not drunk-slurred, but…something else. “I d’nno if I _need_ more water. But, then again, if you _want_ me to drink some more…” Klaus wiggles all over like a snake, extricates his hands from his crotch, and pushes himself up onto one hip, legs still entwined. “I think I could fit it in.” He bites his lip, eyes smoldering again, kind of, but in a different way than before. They’re just a little bit wider, now. Innocent—or a Klausian version of innocent--and trusting.

If Diego wasn’t hard before, he definitely would be now.

“Well? Do _you_ think I should drink more water, Daddy?”

Right. There was a question in there somewhere. “Yeah,” Diego says, and hands the water bottle over.

Apparently he should have moved closer to the bed first, because Klaus reaches out for the water bottle, overextends, topples onto his front, and lies there whining pathetically. “I need help.” His face is half-smushed into the mattress, voice muffled.

“No kidding.” Diego picks up the water bottle, which fell to the floor in his premature assumption that Klaus could maintain a grip on it, and sets it on the nightstand. He manhandles Klaus until he’s sitting up on his heels; Klaus whimpers and bitches incoherently the entire time and shoves his hands back between his legs as soon as he’s upright.

Diego regards him skeptically. “What was that you said about it being not that bad yet?”

“It’s _not_ ,” Klaus whines. “If I—if I ran to the bathroom now I could probably make it. Maybe. There might be a little bit of a wet spot.”

Diego has to suppress another one of those shivers. He reaches for the water bottle. Klaus’s eyes, wide as dinner plates, follow his hand. He unscrews the cap and holds the bottle to Klaus’s mouth. “Drink.”

Klaus chews on his lip—it’s less seductive, now, and more anxious. “Do I have to?”

With the hand that isn’t holding the bottle, Diego grabs a handful of Klaus’s hair—not pulling hard, not trying to hurt him, just a warning. “I thought you said it was up to me.”

Klaus squeaks. His eyes well up a little. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Then drink.”

Klaus gives a tiny fraction of a nod. Diego slowly moves the bottle towards him until the rim is touching his lips. Klaus parts them, obediently. Diego tilts the bottle—slow, _slow_ , try not to dump it all over him or get any up his nose—and Klaus mirrors the tilt with his head, letting the water fill his mouth. Diego pulls the bottle away while he swallows.

He repeats the process a few more times. Slow, agonizing mouthfuls, trickling one by one down Klaus’s throat, into the well within.

By about the tenth one, Klaus is visibly trembling. “D-d—Daddy, please, I can’t—I c-can’t take any more—”

“Did I say you’ve had enough?”

“Daddyyyyyyyy—” Klaus begins to cry fully, with soft and breathy sobs. He rocks back and forth, his hands braced on the mattress, thighs bracketing his crossed wrists. “It _hurts_ —Daddy, I have to go so, _sooo baaaaaad_ —” His voice is all high and wavery. Diego—fuck.

Diego wants to fucking _wreck_ him.

“Lie down.” Diego’s voice has gone in the exact opposite direction, deep and gravelly. “On your back. Hands away from your crotch.”

Klaus sobs once, more sharply this time, and folds in tighter around the axis his arms have become.

Diego leans in close, mouth to Klaus’s ear, and whispers, “Did I stutter?”

(Hey, sometimes clichés exist for a reason.)

“I-I’m s-sorry, Daddy—I’m not—I di-n’t mean to—I don’t _wanna_ be bad I wanna be _good_ and I wanna do what you say but I’m _scared_ and I gotta go _peeeeeee_ —” He starts to rock band and forth again, almost violently, and just cries and cries.

“Honey, baby, sweetie, shhhhh, it’s okay.” Diego drops his voice to a gentle almost-whisper. “You’re not bad, okay? I know you’re trying. It’s okay. What are you scared of?”

Klaus hiccups. “’M gonna w-wet my pants.” His voice is a tiny and broken thing.

“Oh, honey. We already agreed you were gonna do that, remember?” Diego rubs Klaus’s back. “You know it’s gonna happen, so why worry?”

Klaus shakes his head fast. “B-bad—bad, bad, bad—”

“You don’t wanna do it anymore?”

Klaus’s face crumples. “Don’t wanna get in _trouble_ , Daddy!” He dissolves into sobs, deep and rhythmic, his shoulders jerking.

Diego is sitting behind him on the bed almost before he’s aware of placing himself there. He wraps his arms around Klaus, trying to surround him without squeezing too hard. “Oh, honey. Ohhh, honey.” He can barely hear himself over Klaus’s anguish. “Baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s not gonna hurt you. Daddy’s not gonna punish you, okay? You’re good, you’re being _so_ good, Daddy _wants_ you to have an accident, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay….”

“Y-you—” Klaus gasps shallowly. “You _want_ it?”

“Yeah, baby, I want it.” Diego rolls his hips, dragging his erection against the small of Klaus’s back. “Can you feel that? _That’s_ how bad I want it. So bad it hurts.”

Klaus inhales shakily. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Diego nuzzles the side of Klaus’s face, lets his tongue dart out to taste the salt of his tears.

Klaus squirms up against him. “Want me, Daddy?”

“Want you, baby boy.”

“Mmh.” Klaus’s voice has lost some of the roughness of crying. His body language is…desperate, still, but now it’s another kind of desperate. (Things can be more than one thing.) “Wanna _fuck_ me, Daddy?”

Diego bites back a growl. “Later, baby. After we—after you wet your pants for me.”

“ _Ahh_.” Klaus arches his back, head falling back onto Diego’s shoulder. “Daddy? I can’t hold it much longer.” He does another one of those serpentine wriggles. “Just gonna _burst_.”

Diego does growl, this time, and bites Klaus’s earlobe.

“D’you—do y-you still wan’ me to lay down for you?”

“Yeah, baby.” Diego moves out of the way so Klaus can spread out. He stays close, though, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Klaus stares up at the ceiling and sucks in a breath. “Hooooo boy.” His spine is bowstring-taut. His hands are shaped into claws, clutching the bedsheets at his sides. “Gotta go. Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go, _fuck_ —” He whimpers pitifully, bouncing his knees.

Diego palms Klaus’s chest gently, almost reverently. “So good, baby. You’re doing so good.” He skates his hand lower, brushing Klaus’s stomach.

“Daddy that’s not _helpinnnggggg_ —” Klaus’s eyes squeeze shut and then fly suddenly open. “Oh no. Oh god it’s right—it’s right there, it’s right _there_ , I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—” His hands release the sheets and lift a few inches before slamming back down, like he had to fight off the urge to grab himself again.

Diego trails the tip of one finger—slowly, gently—along the strip of skin between Klaus’s bellybutton and the waistband of his pants.

Klaus _shrieks_.

He very nearly does burst, just like he said he would. Up top, he bursts into fresh tears, and down below—

There’s no slow leak, no gradual spread. Klaus goes from zero to drenched, piss just pouring out of him, the puddle filling the width of the bed like a supernova of wet. And all the while, he’s wailing like—like a _baby_ almost, his skinny ribcage looking fit to explode with the force of it.

He keeps going for what feels like a small eternity, even though it can’t be more than a minute or so. Pee is dripping onto the floor by the time he stops. The crying doesn’t stop, though, wracking sobs filling the room and probably a certain radius outside it as well. Diego might have some explaining to do later.

“ _Daaaaaaaaaaaddyyyyyyyyyyyyyy_ —” Christ, that’s loud. _Definitely_ gonna have some explaining to do. Maybe they can pass it off as nightmares or flashbacks or something. “ _I wet my paaaaaaa-haaa-haaaaaaants…._ ”

Diego is kind of frozen up. On the one hand, he’s never been more turned on in his life. On the other, it seems like Klaus might be genuinely Not Okay right now. He snaps himself out of his horny daze and grabs Klaus’s shoulder. “Hey. Hey, sweetie.” Klaus just goes on bawling, like he doesn’t even notice. “Baby, hey, look at me. How ‘bout we go get you cleaned up, okay?”

That gets his attention. His eyes, once opened, are stunningly red. “B-but Daddy….” Klaus sniffles. “You _promised_ …” and he dissolves into sobs once more.

Shit. “Sweetie, I’m sorry, I don’t remember what I—”

“You _said_.” Klaus thumps the mattress with all his limbs in frustration. “You said, after I w-wet myself for you, that we could—that you’d—”

Oh right. That. Diego doesn’t think he phrased it as a promise, but now is not the time to split hairs. Klaus’s histrionics are taking on a distinctly tantrum-like quality. “You want me to fuck you right here?”

“ _Yes_ , Daddy, _please_!”

Christ. Diego’s actually gonna do this, isn’t he? He’s going to fuck his own brother, right here, right now, in a puddle of said brother’s piss.

“Do you have—um—”

Klaus flails in the direction of the nightstand. Diego finds condoms and lube in the drawer, which, thank fuck; he’s got some back in his own room, but leaving Klaus alone right now would be a stunningly bad idea even by…well, either of their standards. He shucks his jeans and skivvies with all due haste and, while he’s getting himself ready, he takes a moment to just look.

Klaus is absolutely wrecked, just like Diego wanted. His eye makeup is smeared into something like a modern art interpretation of their old domino masks. The lower half of his stomach is glistening with wet. And his pants—they’d started out pink but they’re almost magenta, now. (God. Diego really has been spending too much time with Klaus. Since when does he know all this shit about art and color theory?) There’s no distinct stain; they’re just wet all the way up, down, and through. With the way they’re clinging, Diego has a better-than-usual look at the lines and contours of Klaus’s dick. He’s…almost certainly not wearing underwear, is he? If he is, it's gotta be tissue-thin. Maybe like a really delicate silk—goddamnit to hell. Diego really needs to get on with it.

He starts to peel off Klaus’s dripping wet pants and only gets them just past his knees, what with the way they stick to his skin. It’s also slow going because of how Klaus’s skin glistens, a few crystalline droplets clinging to the hairs on his legs, like dew on the moss growing up through the cracks in the sidewalks and _son of a bitch, GET ON WITH IT_. Less poetry, more—

“Daddyyy.” Klaus wiggles impatiently.

Diego swallows a catch in his throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just…you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

Klaus makes an almost birdlike high-pitched noise and shivers. Diego pets the soft, wet inside of his thigh. “Soon, baby. Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Be patient.”

That brings on an even more dramatically vulnerable noise—Diego has given up trying to describe them at this point—and another, gentler wave of tears. “Daddy. I need you so bad.” Klaus’s voice and breathing alike are soft and fluttery, like butterflies—live ones, not the ones pinned in cases in Dad’s—in Reginald’s study—god, why does Diego keep _doing_ this?

It’s because Klaus is so easy to get lost in. It’s because he’s so radiant he makes Diego’s thoughts shoot off in all directions, like—like meteors from an exploding moon.

Diego’s hand has reached the crease between Klaus’s thigh and the softness where his ass begins, just behind his balls. Klaus is quivering like a plucked garroting wire—or maybe more like a harp string.

“Daddy.” So soft, so high. “Please.”

“ _Patience_ ,” Diego says. He pours some lube into his hand and rubs his fingers against his palm, trying to warm it up. “I know you want it hard. And I promise you’ll get that.” He traces the tip of his middle finger around the rim of Klaus’s ass. It twitches. “And I also know you want it fast.” He dips his fingertip inside, just enough to get the inner rim wet. Just in, and then out again, and Klaus whimpers.

Diego leaves his fingertip lightly resting on Klaus’s asshole, looks up to meet his eyes, and says, “But that’s not how Daddy wants it. Okay?”

Klaus can barely get the words “Yes, Daddy” out through the shakes, and Diego dips his finger in again, just up to the first knuckle. Klaus squeaks, tries to push back against it, but there doesn’t seem to be much strength left in his legs. Just in case he finds a second wind, though, Diego puts his unoccupied hand on Klaus’s hip, holding him down gently but firmly and tracing his thumb along the line of Klaus’s hipbone. By the time Diego inches another centimeter of finger into him, Klaus is just whimpering in a long, only slightly broken strand.

Diego half-smiles. “How’s it feel, baby?”

“It— _hnnnhhh_ —” Klaus squirms, but with restraint, like he’s afraid of losing the finger inside him. “’S good—feels good but it’s not _enough_ —Daddy, am I allowed to touch you?”

Diego sighs—not put-upon, but almost _relieved_ —and says, “Yes, baby.”

Klaus reflects his sigh—or maybe not reflects, but…whatever a prism does. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Klaus’s hands come to Diego’s shoulders. Diego hadn’t bothered to take his shirt off, before, and as much as he would like to feel Klaus’s hands on his skin, the way Klaus’s fingers clutch his shirt and curl and uncurl and curl again in a stuttering rhythm is almost…better. Especially when Diego inches his finger in a little further and curls it in a similar but slower rhythm against Klaus’s prostate. Klaus’s clutching hands slow down to match, but he starts gripping harder, catching Diego’s skin with his fingernails.

“Baby. Ow.”

Klaus gasps—”’M sorry—” and yanks his hands away.

Diego shushes him. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just don’t pinch. You can scratch, but not pinch.”

Klaus looks excited. “I can— _aahh_!”

That noise was brought on by Diego flicking his tongue against Klaus’s taint, lightly. Klaus cranes his neck to shoot an affronted look at Diego.

“What’s wrong? Was that not good?”

Klaus’s head flops back down again. “It wasn’t _bad_ , just—warn me next time, jeez.”

Diego almost _chuckles_ , god, what the hell is wrong with him. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m gonna lick your balls now, okay?”

“O-kay,” Klaus squeaks.

Diego keeps his promise, tracing the tip of his tongue up the smooth side of Klaus’s sac—smooth. “What’s this? Has somebody been shaving?” He keeps lavishing Klaus’s balls with little teasing licks while Klaus answers, just to keep things interesting.

“Nnnn-not shaving,” Klaus manages. “Waxing. W-with shaving you get the l-little bumps and the pricklies and—nn-not sexy—prob’ly not that n-nice to have in your mouth either—not that I can suck my ownnn _oh jesus fuck_ —”

Diego has taken Klaus’s implicit cue and pulled one of his balls entirely into his mouth. Klaus is keening and breathing fast and Diego is acutely aware of how delicate this thing is, how little pressure it would take to put Klaus in a world of pain, and so he doesn’t _suck_ it exactly, just sort of cradles it on his tongue, rolls it around a little. He’s been tasting salt on Klaus’s skin all this time but it’s not all that different from the taste of sweat, just a little sharper, a little saltier—might’ve been worse if Klaus hadn’t drunk all that water. Diego releases Klaus’s testicle. “Good boy.”

Klaus gives a little questioning upward whine. “What for?”

“You taste nice.”

Klaus whines longer and louder and lets go of Diego’s shoulders to put both hands over his face.

“Awww, honey.” Diego scoots further up between Klaus’s legs, taking the finger out of his ass to do so. He’d been leaning over the soaking wet pants still stretched between Klaus’s shins, and now he’s kneeling on them. They’re squishy underneath his knees and it should be gross but more than anything, right now, Diego just finds it cute. His poor baby boy who couldn’t control himself. “Did I embarrass you?”

“Nooo,” Klaus whines from behind his hands.

“I think I did.” Diego encircles one of Klaus’s thin wrists in his own big hand, the one that didn't just have a finger in Klaus's ass. (Big. Not as big as…someone else’s, maybe, but Klaus makes them feel _big_.) “C’mon, baby. Let me look at you.”

Klaus lowers his hands slowly, huge red-rimmed eyes peeking over his fingertips. He leaves them there, staring—frightened?—for a moment, and then lowers them the rest of the way.

Diego lets go of Klaus’s wrist in favor of cupping his cheek. “Awww, sweetie. You’re blushing.”

“Am _not_.” Klaus’s lip wobbles, and he bites it in protest.

“Yeah you are. Ooohh, I can feel the heat.” Diego strokes Klaus’s cheekbone with his thumb, picking up a few stray teardrops along the way. “What are you so embarrassed about?”

Klaus’s whine deepens into a groan. “ _You_ know. Don’t make me say it.”

“Say it, baby. Or no cock.”

More whining, always more whining. “You called me _good_ ,” Klaus says. “After you—after you— _you_ know—”

“C’mon, baby, I know you can do it. You’re good at talking, right?”

Klaus draws a deep, shuddering breath and says all in a rush, “After you licked my peepee off my balls.” He cringes.

“Why are _you_ embarrassed about that? I’m the one who’s gross.”

“Okay yeah but it’s— _I_ was gross _first_ and you _liked_ it and—and I never would’ve wanted _anyone_ seeing me like this, much less do the things you’ve done like touch me and l- _lick_ me and it’s—it’s embarrassing, that’s all.” Klaus hides behind his hands again.

Diego crawls up him to lie on his chest, so he can whisper in his ear. “I thought you liked attention.”

Klaus wriggles against him and whispers back, “I didn’t say I didn’t _like_ it.”

“Ohhh,” Diego breathes. “I see how it is.” He pushes himself back up to kneeling, and Klaus cries out at the sudden absence. Diego grabs the lube and re-slicks his fingers. “You like being embarrassed, huh?”

“Daddyyy—”

“That’s the whole reason you wanted me here for this, wasn’t it?” Diego slides two fingers into Klaus’s ass; he’s wet and open and _eager_ enough from all the teasing that they slide in easy. “You could have wet your pants all by yourself, but no. You needed someone to see it, didn’t you?” Diego scissors his fingers almost viciously. “You needed someone to see you all desperate and squirming—” Klaus is doing the fast, hyperventilate-y little whimpers now “—and then you needed someone to watch you lose it, so they’d know what a wet, messy—” Diego curls his fingers mercilessly “— _child_ you are.”

It might not be fair to say that Klaus starts crying _again_ , this time, because he might’ve still been crying a little from the last, but at any rate the hard, wracking sobs come back in full force.

“I di—I di’n’t want jus’ _anybody_!” Klaus wails. “I wanted _you_!”

Diego keeps up a prostate-pounding rhythm. “Why me?”

“’Cause—’cause—you’re _nice_ to me and it’s nice when we play together but it’s not just that, you _know_ me, you know how to not hurt me and how to hurt me good and you know how to t-take care of me an’ you’re—an’ you’re—”

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“You’re my _Daddy_!” Klaus cries out, and Diego pulls his fingers out and wipes the excess lube onto his cock and just dives in. He starts going at a steady rhythm, and Klaus sobs in time with it.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Diego pants out. “Am I hurting you?”

“Nnnnnno—well, not really— _hnnhhh_ —”

“Use your words.”

“’S just—I was—I was gonna come i-if you’d—kept fingering me f-for like—mmm-maybe two more seconds but—” He breaks off and sobs.

“So what’s stopping you now?”

“Can’t,” Klaus cries. “It’s—it’s good but it’s not _enough_ and I need to come so so bad, Daddy, _please_ —”

“Deal with it.”

Klaus wails in despair.

“What did I say about patience?”

More incoherent sobbing.

“You’ll get there when Daddy wants you to, honey, okay?”

“’K—hhh— _kayyyyy_ ….”

After that it’s just more crying and strangled noises, and Diego lets himself get lost in it. Klaus scrabbles at Diego’s back until his shirt is hiked up enough for Klaus to claw at his skin without restraint, which feels really fucking good. Diego, somewhere behind the haze of lust, hopes and prays that it’ll leave marks. In between his own guttural noises, he whispers fragments of praise into Klaus’s ear: “ _good boy_ ” and “ _that’s it_ ” and “ _Daddy loves you_ ” and more “ _good boy_ ,” lots and lots of that, because it makes Klaus cry harder and _apparently_ that’s a thing Diego’s into.

When Klaus freezes up and clenches around Diego’s cock and does the hyperventilating thing again, Diego feels his orgasm coming like a freight train. He has just enough time to wrap his hand around Klaus’s cock and start jerking before he’s _gone_ , seeing white, shaking all over from deep within his core—and then he opens his eyes and Klaus is following right behind him, splattering pearly white all over his chest and stomach and tossing his head back and screaming like the beautiful banshee he is.

Diego starts to pull out, as they’re panting through the aftershocks, and Klaus summons the energy to cling to him again. “Nooooononononono—”

“Shhhhh, honey, it’s okay.” Diego pats Klaus’s arm. “I just need to deal with the condom and then I’ll be right back, okay?”

He’s true to his word—well, he also takes his shirt the rest of the way off, but that only takes like half a second—and Klaus latches onto him like a goddamn face-hugging xenomorph—only, like, his whole body—the instant Diego lies down beside him. He’s not done crying yet, but it’s winding down into the hiccups-and-sniffles stage. Diego just holds him and lets him cling, and it gives him that feeling, again, of being bigger than he is. He’s Klaus’s rock, his shelter, and he can be as strong _and_ as soft as he needs to for Klaus to feel safe. Neither of them talks for awhile, until both their breathing evens out, and Klaus mumbles, “Sticky.”

“Yeah.” Diego laughs softly. “Bathtime?”

“Mm-hm.”

They stay motionless for a beat of silence.

“So,” Diego says, “how’re we gonna get out of this bed?”

Klaus does some kind of lazy shoulder ripple that might be an attempted shrug. “I’unno.”

“Guess it’s up to me, huh?”

Klaus nods. His curls tickle Diego’s nose.

“Okay. Hold on tight.”

Somehow, Diego manages to lever himself upright onto his knees with Klaus’s limbs still wrapped around him. He gets a firm grip on Klaus—one arm supporting his ass, the other braced across his back—and shuffles toward the edge of the bed until he can get one leg off it, extend the knee, and put his foot on the floor. He tries to repeat that with the other leg, reconsiders, sits down on his heel, and _then_ shuffles that leg out from under him and puts his foot on the floor. Finally, with an involuntary grunt and no small amount of joint-popping—shit, is he getting old?—he stands up.

“Yaaaaayyyyy,” Klaus mumbles woozily into his shoulder. “You did it.”

“Yeah,” Diego says. “Now comes the fun part.”

They’re both butt-ass-naked, Klaus’s pants having come off sometime during the fucking. Like hell is Diego going to the effort of unsticking them to get clothes on; wrapping a bedsheet around them would be an acceptable solution if not for all the piss. Diego makes his way to the door, cracks it open—turning the knob _without_ dropping Klaus, thank you very much—and peeks into the hall. Seeing no one, he nudges the door further open with his foot and sticks his head out. Look left, look right. Coast is clear. Time to make a run for it.

Well, technically it’s more of a power-walk, but who gives a shit?

Once they’re safely inside the bathroom, Diego deposits Klaus on the closed lid of the toilet to vocal if incoherent protest. As a concession, he gives Klaus his arm to cling to while he uses the other to fiddle with the taps (this is one of the bathrooms where the tub is maybe six inches away from the toilet, which usually bugs Diego for reasons he can’t define, but right now it’s convenient). Once the water’s running, he asks Klaus, “How hot you want it?”

“ _Too_ hot,” Klaus says with a surprising amount of decisiveness considering the state he’s in.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Mmmmrrrrrrr.” Klaus smushes his face further into Diego’s arm.

Diego gives his hair a ruffle. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

He turns the cold water down until what’s coming out of the faucet is just shy of scalding, plugs the drain, and moves in to hold Klaus more closely while the tub fills. Klaus throws his arms around Diego’s waist and leans into him and hums atonally in a way Diego doesn’t know how to interpret, which worries him. He skritches the back of Klaus’s head, encouraging him to tilt it back so Diego can see his face.

Diego’s not sure what kind of expression he was expecting, but it’s not the one he sees: radiant, blissed out, eyes slightly unfocused but pointed up at Diego and practically glowing with pure joy.

Diego’s seen looks like this on Klaus before—or, well, almost like this—but _he_ caused this one, not some pill or powder or smokable thing. Diego’s never done any drug stronger than whiskey himself, and now he knows for certain that he never wants to, because no high could compare to this. Even the adrenaline rush of taking down a whole cadre of crooks using only his knives and his wits pales in comparison. God, to think he wasted all those years getting his rocks off through violence while Klaus wasted them on drug-fueled debauchery, when they could’ve been doing _this_.

Ah well. Maybe they had to go through all that other stuff—along with, you know, averting the apocalypse—to get here.

All that being said, though, Klaus’s face is a mess.

“Daddy? Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“Can you let go of me for another sec, baby? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Klaus whines, “What _for_?”

“I just wanna get you cleaned up a little.”

“But—bath.”

“Yeah, but if we clean up before we get in, the water won’t get all gross and it’ll be nicer. Okay?”

Klaus sighs and relinquishes his hold on Diego’s waist. “I _guess_.”

Diego goes to the cabinet on the other side of the sink, pulls out a stack of washcloths, and returns, setting the stack on the counter and grabbing the top one to run it under the bathtub faucet. “Gonna start with your face, okay?”

Klaus obediently tilts his face upward, eyes closed. Diego starts working on the mess of smeared eyeliner, doing his best to be gentle. It takes a while, but Klaus is uncharacteristically patient, and finally all that remains are a few dark specks clinging to the very edges of his eyelids.

Klaus looks more vulnerable like this. Of course, the ruined makeup made him look vulnerable too, but in a different way. That was the _wrecked_ kind of vulnerability, and this is more….

The right word is hanging just out of reach. Diego’s not gonna worry about it. What feels more important right now is setting the black-streaked washcloth aside (it’s a good thing Mom actually _likes_ stubborn stains ‘cause they make the laundry less boring), cradling Klaus’s face in both hands, and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead.

Klaus makes a very small, soft noise and whispers, “ _Daddy_.” Not like he’s asking for anything, but like he just wanted to say it.

Diego, in the same spirit, whispers, “My baby boy.” Klaus sighs deeply and melts into him. Diego lets him stay there for a few beats before patting his shoulder and saying, “Time to clean the rest of you now.” Klaus makes an obliging noise and leans back.

Diego dampens another washcloth and sits down on the floor to start washing Klaus’s legs. He takes Klaus’s ankles gently in hand, one by one, guiding him to lift his legs so he can get the backs of them. It’s not until he’s worked his way up to Klaus’s hips—time for another clean washcloth—that he notices Klaus’s cock beginning to harden.

Diego can’t help laughing a little. “Sweetie. _Again_?”

Klaus whines in frustrated embarrassment. “Can’t help it.”

“Shhhh, you’re okay.” Diego wipes off Klaus’s stomach; Klaus’s breathing gets just a shade faster and rougher.

Washing Klaus’s cock and balls provokes a cascade of almost pained whimpers. Diego _tsk_ s. “Ohhh, honey. Sensitive?”

“ _Daddyyyyyyy_.” Klaus’s eyes are filling up _again_. Diego’s surprised he still has tears left in him at this point. Then again, he’s pretty well hydrated.

“Calm down, sweetheart. Daddy’s gonna take care of that as soon as we’re in the tub, okay? Almost done. Stand up and turn around so I can do your butt.”

Klaus wobbles a little, but he manages. Diego is as thorough with his butt as he can be while also being quick about it—he’s not actually trying to _torture_ Klaus at this point. By the same token, he uses the last of the clean washcloths to clean himself off as fast as possible. Finally he switches the taps off (the water is steaming; Diego hopes Klaus wasn’t exaggerating about liking it “too” hot) and helps him in before following.

Klaus utters a deeply satisfied groan as he settles back against the wall of the tub. Diego, for his part, winces a little; it stings, especially on the scratches on his back, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He sits facing Klaus (one perk of these ridiculously huge claw-foot tubs: the taps don’t dig into his back). Klaus opens his eyes, intrigued, like he knows exactly what Diego is planning to do. “You gonna use your stupid power?”

“Why’re you calling it stupid?”

“’Cause it’s not fair how you get a second one and I don’t. ‘Specially since I’d use it way more.”

He’s not wrong: water breathing never really came in handy much in Diego’s line of self-employment. Smugglers at the docks and suchlike weren’t as common as one might expect. Still, Diego fully intends to make Klaus regret talking shit about it.

“Regret” in a fun way, though.

Diego leans forward and kisses Klaus gently on the lips—not a deep kiss, but not a peck either, just another soft press. “You tryin’ to shut me up?” Klaus asks with a small smile.

Diego shakes his head and delivers another kiss to Klaus’s cheek—and then another one, further back, closer to his ear—and then a string of them, following his jawline down to his neck, where he bites a little, _just_ a little, not enough to actually hurt, but _oh_ , Diego told the truth about not wanting to shut Klaus up; all those little noises might be a substantial part of Diego’s reason for living now. The soft skin of Klaus’s neck feels so incredibly good under Diego’s mouth that he stays there for a little while, teasing with his lips and tongue and teeth until Klaus is whimpering louder and squirming enough to make the water slosh around, and then Diego repositions himself onto hands and knees and plunges his head underwater.

It’s quiet down here. Diego can still sort of hear the noises Klaus makes when Diego applies his mouth to Klaus’s nipples, but it’s muffled and garbled through the water, so Diego braces his hands on the sides of Klaus’s ribcage so he can feel it expand and contract with his lungs. The movements get more erratic, like sobs almost, as Diego lavishes Klaus’s chest and stomach with more kisses and little bites.

Klaus is saying actual words now. Diego doesn’t need crystal-clear sound quality to recognize “ _Daddy, please._ ”

Diego stretches his legs further behind himself, so there’s less weight on the pressure points of his knees, and takes Klaus’s cock into his mouth.

Klaus’s hands scrabble around on Diego’s shoulders, seeking somewhere to grab and hold. His water-filtered voice is jumping all over the scale. He gives up on Diego’s shoulders and tries his head, but Diego’s short hair doesn’t offer much purchase either, so Klaus claw-fingers his hands over Diego’s ears and leaves them there. It feels like he’s resisting the urge to clamp harder, which Diego and his cartilage appreciate deeply.

Diego always took it for granted that giving head was an inherently submissive activity, and it’s only here and now—underwater, with his brother’s dick in his mouth—that he’s realizing exactly how wrong he was. With sight and sound dampened, his hands and his mouth the only direct line to Klaus’s responses, he knows—he _feels_ —how in control he is. When Klaus’s hips start to buck a little too hard, Diego gives his ribs a warning squeeze and pulls off his dick until just the tip is inside his mouth, and a long, loud whine pierces through from above, and Klaus’s body settles. He goes still but he doesn’t relax; he’s twitching like he wants to thrash around but he’s stopping himself—no, because _Diego_ is stopping him. Not with ropes or chains or cuffs, and not with violence or even the threat of it—only with his hands on Klaus’s sides and his mouth around his dick.

This is almost too much power for one man.

The abortive twitches and muffled noises are getting frantic. It doesn’t feel like that long since Klaus’s last orgasm. Did Diego lose track of time, or is he just that good at blowjobs? He realizes he’s hard again himself, but he doesn’t feel any particular urgency to _do_ anything about it; it’s kinda just…there. Klaus’s palm is thumping at his shoulder and the noises are starting to sound like words again and yeah, okay, Klaus is definitely about to come again. Diego’s half-tempted to pull off and watch him come in the water—would it look like the inside of a tiny lava lamp?—but that would feel like a cop-out somehow, and Diego is a man who finishes what he starts. Klaus’s release lands hot and bitter on the back of his tongue, and he swallows.

When Diego resurfaces, Klaus is slumped bonelessly against the back wall of the tub, panting heavily. Diego trails a finger along Klaus’s jawline. “Hey.”

“Mmmmmrrrrrrnnnnnn.”

“You okay there?”

Klaus nods in a floppy sort of way.

“Sleepy?”

“Mmmmm.”

Diego pulls the plug and helps Klaus out of the tub. Klaus is at least able to stand on his own now, though he sways quite a bit while Diego towels him off. Out in the hallway, he clings to Diego’s arm.

“Where’re we going?”

“My room.”

“Right. ‘Cause mine’s…yeah.”

“Yeah.” Diego makes a mental note to try and get back there to change the sheets before Mom does it first. Not that he thinks she’d judge, or be upset, or anything, but…he’d just feel bad, knowing.

“You know how to get there?”

“To my room?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Klaus. I know how to get to my own room.”

“’S just asking. I have trouble remembering where everyone’s rooms are. You know, since the…thing.” After they stopped the apocalypse and decided to move back here (because hey, free giant house), one of the first orders of business was everyone switching bedrooms so they were spread throughout the house instead of all in a row. The Diaspora, is what Klaus usually calls it when he’s feeling more articulate.

“Yeah, well. Luckily one of us has a sense of direction.”

It probably says something about how tired and fucked out Klaus is right now, that he just mumbles agreeably instead of getting defensive.

Diego’s room does take some walking to get to, and Klaus’s feet drag slower and slower the whole way. At least it’s on the same floor. Stairs might present a problem.

“ _Bed_ ,” Klaus says emphatically when they arrive. He leaves his towel crumpled on the floor and starfishes himself across the mattress.

Diego picks up the towel and hangs it on one of the hooks on the inside of the door, along with his own. He goes over to the bed and nudges Klaus. “Hey, c’mon. Make room.”

Klaus only whines into the pillow.

“Don’t you want me to tuck you in?”

That gets Klaus’s brain at least a little more in gear. He rearranges himself enough for Diego to pull back the covers and climb in beside him.

The size of the bed doesn’t give them much choice but to cuddle. Klaus rests his head on Diego’s chest and drapes an arm and a leg over him. He’s asleep within seconds, the lucky bastard, leaving Diego alone with his thoughts.

Which, suddenly, is not the greatest place to be.

 _Childlike_. That’s the word he was groping for, before. And he even _called_ Klaus a child too, earlier, didn’t he?

What does it say about Diego, that he was _into_ that?

Then again, Klaus seemed pretty into it too. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t asked for everything that happened. Begged, in some cases.

_Yeah, but as the responsible adult in the room, isn’t it your job to—?_

_We’re the same fucking age_ , Diego cuts himself off irritably.

_Yeah, that’s right. Focus on the one trivial detail in this whole mess that isn’t completely fucked up. Like that absolves you._

_Absolves me of what?_

The judgmental inner voice has no answer to that. Which could just be because Diego’s entire central nervous system is tired, but he’s counting it as a victory anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Content Warnings:
> 
>   * brief discussion of diapers towards the beginning
>   * discussion of canon-typical childhood trauma, encompassing the above
>   * negotiations conducted on the fly
>   * borderline urophagia (specifically: licking piss off skin)
>   * Diego experiencing the beginnings of dom drop, which he does not recognize as such
> 

> 
> Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading.


End file.
